“Paul, let it go!! Drop that thing!! They don't care about you, just drop it!” she yelled.
Tears streamed down his face when he saw his wife was still alive. His grip was tight on the cylinder from the suspension they had him in but he focused enough to let his fingers open one by one. With a groan, he felt the amulet drop from his hand towards the ground.
The loud ringing flashed in his head for a brief second, so loud he thought something popped in his ears. The nearest creature dove and caught the cylinder moments before it hit the dirt and the noise stopped. Paul fell to the ground and toppled into the grave face first on the ancient, alien bones. They were obviously weak and decayed as they crumbled from his weight.
Paul was sure he was about to feel the wrath of the aliens for crushing their ancestor but when he turned around they were all gone. Janine was on her knees in the dirt looking down at him and sort of sobbing and laughing at the same time.
“Honey, we're alive and they left! Are you alright?” she asked through her tears.
“I'm alright...my arms feel like they are going to fall off but other than that...” he said as he climbed out of the hold with a grunt.
He grabbed his wife and they rolled to the ground, together, in an embrace of dirt and tears.
9:17 PM, Saturday, June 21st, 2014
Isaac sat with his arms around Bryla as they waited to see if the ferry would come back. Their hands were bandaged and raw from the excessive digging, but otherwise they were alright. It had been over an hour since Paul and Janine had found them sleeping by their field of holes, and the walk back to the harbour had been a long one.
Janine had filled them all in on all the things that had happened to her and everyone had listened in silence and awe.
“So everyone on this island was uprooted to a ship all so these things could get their hands on some little glowing device?” Bryla asked.
“Seems like it. We checked the houses and the people are back in them...still asleep, but back in them,” Paul replied. He struggled to make sense of what had happened, but the pain in his shoulder reminded him every time he moved his arm.
The sun was setting behind the coastal mountains and the air was getting cooler. Paul pulled his jacket tight around him and asked the question everyone was thinking. “What was that thing and why did they want it? Why leave us alive?”
“I hope we never find out. I truly mean that. Look!” Janine yelped and pointed. “The ferry is coming!”
They all gave a cheer.
“Are we going to tell anyone about this?” Isaac asked. “I mean...do we go to the police or something? What about all the people who wake up after sleeping for a day?”
“I think we let it go... Who in their right minds would believe us? You saw it, too; that pile of bones they had started and we piled on to was gone when we walked by it. They tied up their loose ends didn't they?” Paul slowed as he realized they might be a loose end.
“Let's get on this ferry, get to the other side, get in your car and drive to the nearest bar and get a drink,” Bryla said with a smile.
The ferry docked and the ferry officer walked from inside and waved them over. “Hey guys, we are so sorry for not coming earlier. There was some awful weather around here and the waves were just too big to come closer. It wasn't until an hour and a half ago that they began to calm down. I hope you were alright here all day.”
“We didn't even notice you hadn't been here. We were having such a good time,” Isaac quipped.
A short time later they were on the ferry heading back to Horseshoe bay. The day’s events left Paul reeling, but he was thankful it was over.
“I can't believe that aliens are real. How do we not tell anyone about this? I mean, just think of the implications,” Janine said.
“What was that noise?” Paul inquired. “Shhhhh, there it is again.”
Explosions repeatedly hit in Vancouver's direction. The city skyline became a blur of fire and destruction as the barrage continued. The couples stood on the ferry, still ten minutes from docking and watched helplessly as the city was destroyed in a matter of minutes.
“I can't believe it. It had to be that cylinder they needed. It must fuel their weapons,” Janine whispered.
They watched in silence as the sky glowed orange from the distant fires.
Even The Klin Are Only Human
by Bryn Fortey
Scattered throughout Wales there are still a number of concealed churches surviving to this day. Places either hidden or so difficult to get to that they escaped the Puritan reformers of the seventeenth century, the well-meaning Victorian restorers, and the anti-religion pogroms of the Klin.
The same was true elsewhere of course. The Klin had not destroyed every single place of worship on the whole planet. Just most of them, and very few people had any interest in those that remained anyway. It was all so long ago.
Ben Davie huffed and puffed, glad his long walk was over, though he would have to make the return journey later. He had left Abergavenny that morning, initially in his electro runaround, which he’d parked after a thirteen-kilometre drive, then continued on foot.
A rough and overgrown lane climbed steeply before levelling, passing occasional derelict constructions; cottages and farm buildings, at a guess. Soon after he was walking through woodlands; leading to a sharp drop into the valley below where the loudest sound was that of fast-flowing water. Alongside a river bridge were the oddly isolated remains of a building, the origins of which had him stumped.
Over the bridge and eventually right through another abandoned farm, then there it was. In a state of collapse, but with enough still surviving for him to have worked out what it had been, and he had even found records confirming it. Partrishow Church, hugging the hillside, hidden, and well off the beaten track. No wonder it had survived, even through the troubled times before the pogroms, but it was redundant now. Anyone still in need of religious relief, and there were some, worshipped the Klin themselves.
***
Ben Davey had discovered the spot quite by accident during his teenage years. Always something of a loner, he liked the solitude it offered and enjoyed the feeling of peace he experienced there. It had been somewhere for an occasional visit back then. Now Ben was pushing forty and had been making the trip regularly, every eight weeks, for the past five years.
Ever since he had been appointed Contact Manager for the South Wales Complex.
It was a position nobody wanted and few were qualified for. If Ben had been able to, he would have hidden his suitability, but that had not been possible. Nothing could be kept out of sight, or out of mind.
It was amazing, in this day and age, to accept that mankind had seen fit to wage a military defence when the Klin had first arrived. Billions of humans died while the invaders lost no-one. They hadn’t wanted their demands to escalate into actual warfare, but having claimed this particular Star System for the Klin Empire they weren’t going to turn tail and run.
Their superiority had been total.
Once every eight weeks Ben had to endure Contact. The following day he would suffer delirium and vomiting to such an extent he would wish himself dead. The day after that he would be physically easier but still in need of mental cleansing. That was why he came to Partrishow Church. The hike itself helped sweat any lingering residue from his body and the peaceful solitude of the place calmed his mind.
It hadn’t been how those old-time leaders had expected first contact to be. It had been hoped that wise beings from the stars would usher in an age of new enlightenment, not plant their flag and claim the planet as theirs. If Earth had spoken with a single voice then the bloodshed might have been avoided, however reluctant the surrender, but those were still the days of individual nations. A political structure which must have caused chaos.
Ben sat within the shadows of the dilapidated church, letting good vibes source the mental anguish lurking in hidden corners of his mind. Each M
anager had his own way of dealing with Contact, and this was his.
Ninety-nine percent of humans could not survive close proximity with the Klin. They erupted into boils and their brains would fry; death was a welcome release. One percent had immunity, though it was still a most unpleasant experience. All children were tested and those possessing the survival gene were trained in the ways of Contact.
There was no dodging it.
***
Partly veiled by the damaged structure, Ben looked out at a landscape within which he could imagine himself the only survivor of an apocalyptic event. Here, alone, he could dissociate himself from the controlled orthodoxy of the Klin’s benevolence, something which was stressed throughout the worldwide education system.
Earth’s doomed retaliation against becoming an outpost in an ever expanding Galactic Empire saw the planet itself, already suffering the ravages of ill-use, damaged seemingly beyond repair. In a final act of desperation tinged madness, mankind had unleashed the accumulated nuclear arsenals of the previously competing nations. None had penetrated the Klin defence but the planet itself had been devastated, and defeated.
The new rulers had gathered the vastly depleted population into safe areas and proceeded to not only put right the immediate conflict-induced damage but also rectify the long term ills that mankind had ignored for generations. With icecaps refrozen, sea levels dropped, deserts transformed into fertile land, it was little wonder that the Klin themselves were elevated from invaders into saviours.
Earth, in common, it could be assumed, with countless other worlds, was linked in to the Klin’s industrial network. Thirty percent of output was geared to home planet consumption and seventy percent to Klin specifications, such produce being collected by automated star freighters at regular intervals.
Being attached to the South Wales Complex, Ben met his Klin supervisor every eight weeks to discuss targets, performance, and any matters arising. Though met was probably the wrong word. Nobody had seen any of the Klin in the flesh since the conflict, which was six hundred years in the past now. There were folk-tales aplenty concerning their actual appearance, ranging from gigantic ogres to doll-like miniatures, but those assigned to Sol never left the palatial crafts that orbited the system.
Ben, when he entered the specialised chamber, met with a projection that appeared to him like a shining and glittering star. A voice emanating from it conversed with him in standard Earth language, but the physical being rested on a couch in a spaceship. Only Contact Managers could survive even this second hand communication, and then at a cost.
The Klin had these factory planets dotted throughout space, all providing goods to their specifications. The worlds were well maintained and indigenous populations cared for. It was, well, a safe existence. Too safe, for some. Ben knew there were pockets of dissatisfaction; small groups who met in secret and talked about unworkable plans to free the Earth from what they saw as alien tyranny. He knew because he had once been approached, but had declined.
Ben had enough on his hands with spreadsheets and reports; with raw materials, finished products, achieving targets and quotas. And the eight-weekly meetings with his Klin Supervisor.
***
Having eaten a packed lunch he replaced the empty containers and refresher bottle in his rucksack. Ben never left any litter. The unspoilt nature of the site was one of its attractions. This latest meeting, that he was just recovering from, had gone well. His Complex had matched the increased quota placed upon it and bonus credits had been granted to all employees. His personal two-day recovery period was now drawing to a close and he would be back at his desk tomorrow.
As much as was possible with a mechanically voiced glittering star shape, Ben thought he had a reasonable relationship with his Supervisor, who was currently in the fourth of its ten year off-world contract. Another six and it would return to the Klin home planet. When Ben had first assumed Contact duties the then Supervisor had been nearing the end of its term of office. The new one had looked no different but there was a slight change in the voice and it had seemed keen that they should work in harmony.
By the time all work related topics had been dealt with, Ben would be starting to experience early bilious sensations and stomach cramps would not be far away, but the Klin would always want a little non work related conversation to end up with. It took some sort of interest in Ben himself, and his life in general. Though none of the Klin ever used names in relation to themselves, they used those allotted to their human workforce.
“How goes your life, Ben-jam-in?” The Supervisor always used Ben’s name in full, though separating it into three distinct syllables. “Have you acquired a partner yet?” It was a subject of regular interest.
“No,” Ben would reply, often with a wry chuckle, “much too busy with the new quotas you keep giving us.” His stomach would be beginning to churn and bile would be burning at the back of his throat. Only once had the Supervisor kept him talking long enough for Ben to actually collapse in pain and anguish while still in the chamber. It had learnt from that and had since ended the meetings before that point was reached. Though sometimes only just.
Ben, lifelong loner that he was, had only once met someone he had wanted to sign a personal contract with, and she had turned down his offer. As gently as she could, but a no was still a no. Ben often got the impression that his Supervisor would have liked him to have had a relationship to discuss. Klin lifestyles and habits were completely unknown. Ben didn’t even know whether his Contact was with a male or female, or even if the Klin had gender differences at all. Or if they did, how many!
***
“You have a good world, Ben-jam-in,” the Supervisor had told him, “better than many we have acquired.”
Ben thought about that as he kept to a steady pace, hiking away from Partrishow Church on his return to where his electro runaround was parked, and he agreed. But history showed what a disjointed and terrible place it had been pre-Klin. Mankind fared better as a subservient race, when not in charge of their own destiny.
He wondered about the growth of anti-Klin cliques’, when it was entirely down to them that the planet had been cured of all its old ills. It was still only a tiny minority of course, but rumour had it that membership of such groups had been growing of late.
Why?
Apart from anything else, it was absolutely pointless. Back when humanity had been both greater in numbers and more aggressive in nature, they had completely failed to inflict even a scratch upon the Klin. Such groups could never be more than a place to let off steam. No real uprising was possible, thank goodness.
Ben shook his head slowly, unable to understand why anyone would want to consider such a possibility. Making himself comfortable, he powered up the runaround and fed in his Cardiff address. It would be back to work for him in the morning.
***
As the Contact Manager, Ben Davey had to be aware of every facet of production in each Unit of the South Wales Complex. Departmental Heads might be hands-on, knowing their own segment of operation in detail, but Ben had to have the overall picture at his fingertips in readiness for his bimonthly Contact. So a copy of every report produced landed on his desk and each working day was filled with meetings.
He often had to take unread reports home in order to catch up. How anyone had time to join secret groups, Ben had no idea, but whispers against their Klin overlords seemed on the increase. There were even rumours of open criticism in some parts of the world, though nothing like that had happened locally.
Colleagues sometimes asked if their Supervisor ever mentioned the Klin knowing about the growth of these subversive ideas, but Ben gave them short shrift. Even if they were aware, it would mean nothing to them. The Klin were indestructible.
Then, shortly before his next Contact, word came from Up Above, their euphemism for the Klin spaceships, that all production was to cease. Star freighters would be deployed to empty the Warehouse Bays of all stock. New
productivity schedules would be forthcoming but in the meantime give the whole Complex a thorough overhaul and clean up.
A series of calls confirmed that the message had been worldwide.
Rumours were rife, but there were no further instructions. Everybody looked to Ben, expecting him to find out what was going on, as he hoped to himself, at his next Contact.
***
As was normal the Chamber was empty when Ben entered. He placed all the reports brought with him on the single desk and sat on the only chair. The rest of the room was empty.
It started as a slight movement in the air, a distortion which magnified quickly into a riot of twinkling and shimmering light. Like a star, Ben always thought.
“Greetings, Ben-jam-in,” said the very formal metallic sounding voice.
“Greetings, Supervisor. All received instructions have been carried out. Where would you like to begin?” asked Ben, getting to his feet and taking hold of the report folder.
“Not on this occasion. I have news to impart. Be seated, Ben-jam-in.”
Ben, all ears at this departure from their regular routine, sat as requested.
“We, the Klin,” continued the Supervisor’s voice from within the glittering mass of light, “do now revoke all claims to this planet. Earth is now yours again…”
“But why? Ben had jumped to his feet. “What do you mean, ours again?”
“This is a shock, Ben-jam-in, but by what you call tomorrow we will have departed from this section…”
“But why?” Ben repeated, interrupting again. He could feel the colour draining from his face. The Klin had ruled for six hundred years. They couldn’t just pack up and leave at a
moment’s notice!
“Be calm, Ben-jam-in. I have done as instructed and informed you of what is to happen. I will now tell you why, as will all other Supervisors with their Contacts.”
“But…”
“No ‘buts’ Ben-jam-in. Please listen. It is important that you know these things.”
Aliens - The Truth is Coming (Book of Aliens 1) Page 6